


The Amazing Spider-Stan

by I_AM_KING_DAD



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Cronenburging, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Monster Transformation, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8315137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_AM_KING_DAD/pseuds/I_AM_KING_DAD
Summary: Stanley Pines finds himself with some extra baggage after an old friend visits.





	1. With Great Power...

**Author's Note:**

> This was my fic for the Stanchez Micro-Bang. It's a multi-chapter work, this is just scratching the surface!
> 
> Also, if you read the summary posted by the Micro-Bang tumblr blog, I'm sorry, but that is not what the fic is like anymore?

A whole year of adventures on the high seas, regardless of vigor and zeal, can leave one exhausted-especially a pair of twins pushing seventy. Stanley Pines, now able to pursue his lifelong dream with his brother, was also aware it was time for a break. Being knee-deep in treasure and babes was great, but other priorities had come up. Summer creeped its way back to the northern hemisphere, and he petitioned for the kids to return with little resistance from their parents back to the Mystery Shack. It’d be nice to relax, maybe hide all that money away, too. 

 

He catalogued a list in his head of things he wanted to do with the kids, now that he wasn’t Mr. Mystery anymore. Most of it really was ‘sit on the couch and drink Pitt cola while the kids did something mildly amusing’. Now that he had this time to relax, perhaps it would be a good time to count his blessings. Whenever he looked at his brother, he couldn’t help but remember just how hard he had worked to get him here in the first place. Memories of long nights pouring over books he could hardly read let alone understand flooded his mind. Man, when did he become such a sap?

 

They weren’t all unpleasant. Every once in awhile Stanley would sneak out of Gravity Falls on a whim to clear his mind. The long nights trying to retrieve Stanford took a toll on him, and a little bit of mischief in a state he was still permitted in couldn’t hurt. It was one of these rambunctious nights at a bar where he met someone who helped him bridge the gap between relatability and high-level subject material. Plus, he was a hell of a drinker. This stranger didn’t look bad either… It was this man, Rick Sanchez, who occasionally assisted him throughout the years when he had time, helping Stan achieve what he thought was impossible. 

 

When the Pines brothers returned to the Shack, they were met with balmy weather and an incredibly excited Soos. Ford took it upon himself to make his presence scarce, taking advantage of the silence the few days before the kids arrived granted him. Stan thought this would be a perfect opportunity to invite his old bar buddy over to show him the fruits of their effort. No doubt he’d want to see that it wasn’t all in vain. Generally a cynic, sometimes Stan wasn’t given a confident analysis of the situation.

 

Rick visited the shack several times over the years, the last time he gave Stan the number for his cellular phone. Stan didn’t have one himself, so he never called, but kept the card. A deep dig through his desk produced it scrawled on a faded piece of paper. It would be a stretch to contact him. He recalled Rick being rather erratic, sometimes in and out of town for weeks, months. He never really was sure exactly where he was, though he knew it was the same line of work or similar compared to his brother.

 

He clutched the receiver of the phone in his hand tightly. Maybe this would be a wash. The line crackled and hissed. Stan could feel sweat on the back of his neck. Two more rings. Then suddenly the line came to life with the sound of coughing with a gruff, “Hello?” Well, at least he didn’t change.

 

Stanley found himself clearing his throat, “Uhh-” what a great way to start off a conversation.

 

“Wow, Stan, what a great greeting, that was, that was really something.”

 

“How did you-”

 

“Caller ID says Gravity Falls, Oregon, how could I not know?” his tone was flat.

 

“Heh - modern technology… Anyway, I wanted to talk to you - see how you were doing…” he trailed off nervously, “Y’know- I got my brother back.”

 

“What,” it wasn’t a question, more of a demand.

 

“Yeah! I uh - finally got it working. A lot of insane, heh, insane stuff happened, but Ford’s back now and I wanted to have you over so you can finally meet him.”

 

Initially there was hesitation over the line. Stan questioned whether or not the call had dropped, but then heard a grunt and then an enthusiastic, “W-Well why didn’t you say so, buddy? I’m there!” and it was then the line dropped, leaving Stan still holding the receiver. It would have been great if he specified a time, but hell, Rick knew where he was, he’d find him one way or another.

 

It was around midnight after Stan had long gone to bed when a rather strange, warped sound rang through the cabin with a flash of green light. There was some swearing and a pair of voices, but his hearing wasn’t the best it could have been. Sitting straight up, he recognized a familiar cadence. Popping his teeth in his mouth and a couple of shells in a shotgun, he did his best to slink out of his room and toward the sound. Slinking wasn’t something someone his age did very well, and despite his his knowledge of cat burglary and other nefarious skills, it just wasn’t happening at 3 am in the morning. He found himself tumbling into the hallway toward the kitchen.

 

“J-Jeez, Rick, I-I-I mean - this is someone’s home a-a-and it’s the middle of the nigh-”

 

“Shut up, Morty, you think I don’t know that?” oh there was a familiar voice, “S’real special day-” oh and that drunk slur was still there, “Gonna, gonna see a friend. Get you some fresh-urrrrrp-fresh air.” 

 

“Grandpa Rick, do you even know where we are?” another unfamiliar voice, a female this time.

As Stan rounded the corner a lanky form pressed fingers to their temple, “Ugh - of course I do Summer. Grandpa’s just-urrrrrp-turned-turned around a bit,” and as the form whirled around, Rick Sanchez caught a glimpse of the barrel of a shotgun pointed at his nose. 

 

Summer gasped, clasping at her mouth with her hands. Morty groaned. There was a long pause. Rick furrowed his brow. After what seemed like ages of a perceived stare-off, Stanley lowered his gun and laughed, much to Summer and Morty’s surprise. Setting the gun off to the side, safety bedamned, he walked toward Rick who met him in a familiar embrace. Stan wasn’t sure if the scent of alcohol came from his rancid breath, or simply sweat out his pores. He drank enough it could have replaced most of the fluids in his body. That’s how it worked, right? 

 

After the pleasantries, Stan pounding a fist to his chest, coughing, “Uh, didn’t think you’d arrive so soon,” he nodded over to Summer and Morty, “Grandkids?” 

 

“Y-euuugh-ah, figured they could use some time in the gre-eeeaaat outdoors,” he swirled an index finger in the air, “Besides,” now jerking a thumb toward Summer, “this one used to work for at a, at a cursed curio store. There was a whole ordeal about it, figured she’d b-eeeeugh right at home. And this one,” he now pointed toward Morty, “is amused at just about anything y-you put in fr-UGGGH-nt of him,” he sniffed and rubbed at his nose before taking a swig from a flask hidden in his lab coat, “Since you’re, y’know, a hack, but at least y-you admit it, and that’s what I like about you,” Rick was now clasping a hand on his shoulder.

 

Stan stood there, looking from the kids to Rick, scratching the back of his head, “Well, Mabel and Dipper are comin’ in a couple of days, and their rooms aren’t’ necessarily set up but -” he shrugged, defeated. What could it hurt? “I guess they can sleep up in the attic?”

 

“The attic? Ohh great. Grandpa Rick, are we really staying in this place? It’s practically a tinder box. There’s a gas cannister in the kitchen.”

 

“And a saw,” Morty’s voice cracked. 

 

“Wow, Summer, didn’t even think you’d know what a tinder box was. Good job, pulling-urrrrrp-pulling out the stops trying to put me in my place,” he scoffed. There was another swig of the flask. 

 

A grumbling exchange ensued, and Stan gave the cursory tour and ushered the teens up to the attic. Morty asked why they didn’t just come in the morning, but Rick shut the door rather than answer the question. Heading back down the stairs with Rick, Stan casually mentioned, “I don’t mind the couch, you can sleep on my bed,” he rubbed at the back of his neck. He must have wrenched it when he woke up suddenly, “Not the most comfortable thing, but eh,” 

 

Rick was staring at him, “Orrrr, we could both be m-miserable,” he gripped at Stan’s arm, but he pulled away.

 

“Not-not right now,” the idea was starting to make him sweat.

 

“Suit y-yourse-EEEEllf,” Rick folded his arms, amused, “W-where’s that brother you’ve been talking bout for th-urrr-ty, thirty years?”

 

Stan wasn’t sure how Ford would take another scientist, let alone one like Rick just waltzing into their home. With a portable portal. Something that outshone any work that Stanford did, and brought it up to a level that would make the product coveted by many. Maybe it would be best if they waited until the morning, “Y’know, we just got back, and I think he’d like a little alone time…” he trailed off when Rick groaned.

 

“Fiiiine,” another swig from the flask, “I’ll go visit good ol’ Fordy another time,” he swung around on one foot, and somehow, despite the dark and drunkenness, knew exactly which room he was staying in. 

 

A relief to Stan, who only wanted a bit more shuteye, he shuffled to the living room to turn on the television and inevitably fall asleep in front of it. Dozing was a specialty, and it wasn’t long before he contented himself in a dreamless slumber. 

 

\-----------

 

It would take more than a simpering verbal warning to keep Rick Sanchez from doing what he wanted when he wanted to do it. He knew quite a bit about Stanford, more so than Stanley did. He reckoned that Ford didn’t tell him much of his adventures, and Stan was too lazy to read any updates to the journals. Rick never understood why Ford continued to write everything down in a journal, but hey, he pegged him for more of a classic nerd. 

 

Stan was asleep like clockwork; Rick reveled in the fact that he was rather predictable. He lamented the fact he didn’t see him more, but hey, when you don’t see your brother for thirty years, you’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for. Spying him on the couch fast asleep, Rick knew exactly how to get to the basement where Ford was busy, and equally predictably at work on something new. Not that one could creep in this house - did Ford purposely ask the contractor to make it so rickety?

 

He slunk down the stairs, and with the disabling of a few homebrewed security measures, Rick found himself staring at the back of the other twin’s head. It was buried in something, while a hand added a miniscule amount with a dropper. Rick cleared his throat loudly.

 

“Stanford Pines, y-you’re finally in the right-urp-the right dimension,”

 

“What the devil-get out of my lab!” He hardly recognized the fury in his own tone. Ford knew that voice and he whirled around. It was a rather taunting voice he’d come in contact with the years. A voice that belonged to a man he’d only seen by chance in passing. Rick Sanchez made as good a foil as any other enemy, but his cockiness really grated on him. (Not that he was one to talk.) He turned slowly, as Rick passed him, making a b-line for his work rather than him.

 

Naturally, Rick ignored the rather frightening expression Ford had plastered on his face, “I see you’re workin’ on a little midnight splicing,” Rick began to reach for a solution for bubbling green.

 

“Drop that Sanchez,” a growl escaped Ford’s throat, “You don’t know what you’re handling,”

 

“Excuuuuse me, princess,” he snorted, “What are you telling me, I-I’m not-URP-qualified to give a colleague advice?” he eyed the solution and scoffed, “This looks an 8th grade chemistry lab.”

 

“What I’m trying to tell you is that this solution is highly volatile and in the early experimental stages!”

 

Rick wasn’t paying attention. He was scanning Ford’s scrawling notes. They didn’t seem impressive to him. Rolling his eyes he reached for a dropper. His hand was slapped. He reached for it again. Another slap, and an angry grimace, “You haven’t done one calculation, and it certainly doesn’t look like you’ve retained the information from my instructions,” Ford was now standing up, facing Rick, preparing to kick him out.

 

“What I read was a bunch of - a bunch of bullshit, and I definitely don’t need to do any calculations to prove you’re a sonofabitch!” and that’s when the first punch landed square on Rick’s jaw, causing him to stumble backward. That’d get him to shut up.

 

Rick was still rubbing his face when Ford stepped forward, already in a stance to fight, “I’ve had enough!” he growled. He started to roll up his sleeves; he wasn’t averse to giving someone the ol’ 1-2 if it meant sticking up for himself. Damn tired of having his space taken over, he didn’t expect to be clocked in the nose so quickly. 

 

Sanchez fought dirty, there was nothing new about this. Why was he so surprised? “Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be committing genocide, or destroying other dimensions?” He shoved Rick in the chest, whose body bounced against and dented a piece of machinery. Ford cursed under his breath regardless of it being his fault.

 

“You’re one to talk,” Rick scoffed.

 

Ford’s question was never answered as they were interrupted by heavy-padded footsteps drawing closer. Stanley knew Rick would pull something shifty. He also had a sixth sense when it came to fighting. Camcorder strapped to his hand, he grinned and hove into view, “The sound of knuckles hitting bare flesh alerted me to a possibly profitable business venture...Nerd Fights!” he laughed loudly and tried to aim his camera.

 

“Oh, Stanley,” Ford sighed before he was caught under the chin by another punch.

 

Okay, maybe this was a little too much. “Fellas it’s,” well, he didn’t have a watch on him, “Four-thirty in the morning?” he squinted his eyes at the approximation, “Can’t you wait until after breakfast?”

 

The plea didn’t resound well with either scientist. There was a bit of a contemplative pause, but soon enough it devolved to shouting and yelling from both parties. Stanley found himself not necessarily wanting to pick a side, but wanting to at least diffuse the situation. Watching children fight or some jabronis push each other was great - but these two men were rather dangerous. Putting the camera down he rushed over to get between them, “Guys, c’mon!” The jostling and collective shoving forced Stan to reel back, losing balance and falling into the metal work table. Now thoroughly tipped, the flask Ford was so careful to guard spilled its contents onto Stanley’s back and shoulders. Everything stopped. 

 

There was no initial backlash. Stan sat on the floor where he’d slid from the table downward. The liquid was warm - but not painful, “Well,” Stan declined help up and stood himself up with a crack of his back, “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna take a shower and get this,” he pulled at the back of his tank top, “...science juice off me. S’startin’ to itch,” he began to scratch at his back. 

 

“S-stanley…” Ford began, his voice quiet. He had no idea how this would affect his brother, and by the look of Rick he was in a stunned silence as well. When Stanley’s back hove into view, Ford could see why…

 

It was bubbling. At least - the material of the tank top. Stan scratched aggressively at it. “Okay - maybe I need some hel-” he cried out. What was originally seen as a corrosive effect, the flesh on his shoulders expanded, as was the same down his back. A force under the skin appeared to be stretching, pushing to get out of a prison. Fabric ripped, and the cracking of bones and ripping of skin all came to a head when Stanley eventually slumped to the floor motionless.

 

Rick and Ford were quick to get down to his level. It appeared that Stan had grown some extra...appendages. Two arms, just as strong as his original ones, had grown out from his sides. The hands flexed and twitched, apparent that Stan could not control the new nerves and muscles. What was more disturbing to the pair was the growth of another pair of arms, spindly and long, above the shoulder blades. Much longer than the other appendages, they could, hypothetically, reach the floor and carry him. At the moment they were busy spasming with new life, and after a bit of shaking from Ford he roused.

 

Initially, he just seemed dazed, his original limbs rubbing his face. Ford observed him cautiously, writing something in a notepad, “Stanley? How do you feel?” he walked around his brother, scribbling occasionally. 

 

Stan grunted, “Eh, I’m alright I guess. Still kinda itchy,” and the lower pair of arms, seemingly gaining some form of subconscious control scratched idly at his side and back. He stopped and looked down through the fingers of his original hands, planted firmly on his face. Next, he realized the pressure in his shoulders, and promptly began to scream.

 

Rick and Stanford exchanged wary glances. It was Rick who was quick to calm him, placing his hands on his shoulders and shaking him a little, “I-I-It’s not so bad, buddy, y’know this, this could be way worse,” Stan took a deep breath and with help, stood up. The long appendages shuddered, and folded themselves neatly up onto his shoulders similar to a hunched back. 

 

“Oh that’s a great way to put it,” Ford rolled his eyes and jotted down some more notes, “Stanley, I’m going to need to explain how you feel in great detail,” he furrowed his brow, “Fortunately, other than the extra arms you’ve remained physically intact. I’m afraid your appearance is rather...jarring, and you’ve seemed to grow a fair amount more body hair-,”

 

“Nah, that’s the same amount,” Stan stuck his pinky finger in his ear, digging absently. He seemed relatively calmer than before, “You got a plan to fix this, Sixer?”

 

Stanford frowned, “It will take some time, but with a few rounds of testing I think this can be reversed…”

 

“In time for the kids?”

 

Ford looked down sheepishly, “I’m not sure-”

 

“I-I-In my experience, they get used to it,” Rick punctuated the sentence with a burp and a swig of a flask. “You need to think of the possibilities!” he put an arm around Stan’s shoulders awkwardly, patting one of the appendages, which spasmed appreciatively. 

 

He had been watching Stanley in the background while his brother spoke to him. His eyes gleamed with something - was it disgust? Lust? A devious plan? Stanley wasn’t sure, but he enjoyed the adventurous, brazen moxie Rick carried with him, and with that it brought exciting, even lucrative opportunities. Sure, they weren’t the nicest looking things; the spindly arms that stretched from his shoulders out reminded him of grasshoppers he’d seen in late summer. It would probably scare any customers to the shack away, which wasn’t necessarily a problem. Knowing Rick, he’d know how to capitalize off him.

 

“Stanley,” Ford said warily. He could tell what his brother was thinking, “You should probably stay with me until we get this sorted out…” he was eyeing Rick, who already held the expression that he’d won the argument.

 

“Oh please, I think we both know the guy could use a little fun. Especially after what you’ve probably dragged him through,” Rick retorted, narrowing his eyes at Ford. Ford himself was doing an excellent job holding his tongue.

 

Stan considered rebutting what his friend said-how could he let anyone speak to his brother like that? Rick could. They did have a little time - well, not too much, but enough for him to have a bit of excitement with an old friend. He scratched the top of his head nervously and looked at Ford, “L-Listen, Sixer,” Ford already narrowed his eyes, but honestly, Stan didn’t want to stay stuck in the lab for who knows how long. Stan was obviously conflicted. He didn’t want the kids to see him like this - especially Dipper. Man, could that kid freak out. 

 

Ford already knew what his brother was going to say and raised a six-fingered hand up to stop him, “Say no more, Stanley,” he relented, giving him a coy smile, “You’ve been surprisingly...restrained over our adventures the last year. It couldn’t hurt to let you blow off a little steam...If I could just do a few measurements and take a few samples-”

 

Stanley took that as explicit permission to go on a mission of debauchery and looked at Rick with a sly grin. Rick was more focused on getting Ford off their backs, and plucked a few hairs from Stan’s shoulder (without his permission) and brought out a swab from seemingly nowhere to collect a saliva specimen (also without his permission.) A bit more ogling from the older twin who noticed that Stan’s lower arms were involuntarily tickling his own sides every so often, “Now remember,” Ford began, “You’ve got a little bit of time before Soos picks up Dipper and Mabel-” 

 

Rick and Stan were out the door before he even gave a time of when the kids would arrive. Now invested solely in the samples and finding a cure (for now) he considered calling his old friend Fiddleford to help him analyze some data…


	2. Making Profit from Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Rick return from some inter-dimensional adventures and then try to scrounge up a few extra dollars by taking advantage of Stan's new form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back (temporarily)! I'll be working on the last chapter soon, but here's the - here's the actual meat-and-potatoes of the fic, I guess.

It was early afternoon when Summer and Morty woke up in the attic bedroom. Light filtered hazily through the Summer air, hitting Morty directly in the face, “Aw jeez,” he rubbed his eyes and sat up. 

 

Summer, sitting close to her phone which was charging in an outlet, had been awake a little longer than he, “There’s no reception,” she snapped, “Of course Grandpa Rick would take us somewhere in the middle of nowhere,” she rolled her eyes.

 

Morty stretched and scowled at Summer, quick to defend their absent grandparent, “Rick’s trying to help you out, maybe you should listen to him and get some fresh air,” his eyes glimmered with that hint of superiority-he still wanted to be the favored companion.

 

“Whatever, Morty,” she stood up and drifted over to the door, “I’m hungry and I’m going to look for some food,” she stated, determined. Even though that was a pretty nasty kitchen. You were more likely to find tetanus than nutrition. 

 

Downstairs the house was barren. The occasional noise could be heard from downstairs, but Morty and Summer could never find the entrance to any basement. Conventional knowledge of horror movies would also dictate that the basement probably wasn’t the best place to go in an unfamiliar house. Morty shuffled along with her sleepily, their clothes wrinkled from a night of restless sleep, “That guy sure has a lot of brown meat,” he eyed the shelves uneasily.

 

“Do you think there’s anything edible here other than this gross old man food?” Summer peered underneath the sink and flinched at the sight of-well, it wasn’t a rat, but a little person, who hissed and then scampered out the open window. Summer and Morty shared an unnerved expression before their attention was pulled to outside the kitchen. 

 

A familiar sound echoed somewhere in the house and it was followed by gruff, yet pleased voices, “Grandpa Rick!” it had been a while before they were this pleased to see him. They rounded the corner, and lo’ and behold there was there sometimes-beloved grandfather exiting a portal with someone else. Upon further inspection it was the same man from last night, now glad in a pair of white slacks and a Hawaiian shirt - with the addition of two sets of arms. Summer shrieked with horror while Morty shirked away in initial disgust. Must have been an accident while hanging out with Rick again. 

 

“-and the service! Ooo lala, heh. I can’t believe they even had my favorite pattern of shirt!” 

 

“Y-yeah that planet re-EEERRRP-ally knows its fashion. And booze,” he was holding a bottle in his hand in a language definitely not English. He slugged some down, belched again and wrapped an arm around Stan. Recognizing Morty and Summer immediately he grew excited, “H-heeeey there’s my favorite grandkiiiids.”

 

Morty was rather enthusiastic, “Oh boy, Rick, d-did you show your friend around the galaxy? Go on some crazy adventures?” he knees knocked with excitement.

 

“Did you bring us some food?” Summer asked humorlessly, staring at her phone which unsurprisingly still did not have a signal. 

 

Rick shot Summer a displeased look, “I’m going to ignore your attitude because I-I’m having a great time,” he shoved two bags unceremoniously at the kids. When they looked at him with confused expressions he barked, “W-what, do-do you think I forgot about you or something?” he folded his arms and when the kids expressed confusion at their respective bags, he sighed, “Foooood,” he enunciated to them as if speaking to someone who couldn’t speak English.

 

Summer and Morty were surprised to find bags of what could only be described at the intergalactic version of McDonald’s, complete with cheese-like substance stuck to the wrappers. Though the food in question was nothing they’d ever come in contact with, they ate their sandwiches (or whatever they were) greedily. Rick waited for them to settle before continuing on, “Mr. Pines-that what you call him-and I--” he was interrupted by a cacophony of voices at the entrance to the gift shop.

 

Two voice-one excited, one distressed, cried out in unison, “Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Stan!?” 

 

“Kids!” Stan cried, pleased with himself that he got there in time. He quailed internally; who picked them up?

 

“Mr. Pines?” Soos’ voice followed shortly after, also concerned.

 

They all met in the living room, Dipper and Mabel stopping dead at the sight of several strangers and their grunkle, obviously altered, “Grunkle Stan, he told us everything!” Dipper narrowed his eyes at Rick, “Don't worry, Great Uncle Ford and I will get you back to normal,” his voice reflecting unwavering dedication. 

 

Rick only managed to scoff and roll his eyes. Mabel was the first one to actually go up to hug Stan, “Woooow!” she admired the arms coming from his sides, “Grunkle Stan, you look like a Pokémon!”

 

“I don't know what a Pokémon is, but I can be a Pokey-Stan!” he laughed loudly and with all six arms began to gently poke Mabel, who laughed along and flopped onto the floor with Waddles.

 

“You two seem like you’ve had quite the adventure,” Ford said stiffly, eyeing the two, “That’s a nice shirt Stanley.”

 

Stan grinned and nudged Rick, “See?” Rick rolled his eyes, “I’m a regular fashion icon.”

 

“Oh, you’re a regular something,” Rick muttered with a playful sneer. Ford actually chuckled at this. 

 

From off to the side, a voice piped in, “Uhh...Mr. Pines?” Soos, dressed in his Mr. Mystery suit approached, expression timid, “I have so many questions, but,” he tapped his fingers together nervously, “the Mystery Shack should be opening soon…”

 

Stanley snapped his fingers and patted Soos’ shoulder with one of the spindly hands, “About that, Soos, Rick and I actually’d like to help you with that!” 

 

Rick nodded, “God a re-URRRP-aaaaal exciting tour planned,” he snickered.

“We’d like to give you the day off!” Stan was initially excited, before adding flatly, “Don’t get any funny ideas though, this is a one time thing.” 

 

“And I wanna wear the feeeez!” Rick interrupted, excitedly, a big grin on his face as he delicately plucked the hat from Soos’ head.

 

Soos was initially excited for the day off. He had been working rather hard to keep the shack running at a profitable rate without cutting the same corners Stan did, “Do you dudes still need me around?”

 

Rick thought for a moment and looked over to stand, “Always nice to have a yes man in the crowd?” Stan nodded in agreement. 

 

“I have a purpose in this adventure!” Soos said triumphantly, jumping up, one fist in the air. 

 

Stan and Rick glanced at each other in confusion while Rick placed the fez on his head, “Alriiight,” Stanley decided to move the conversation forward. They had a bit of preparations to go over. The parcels that came with them on the trip were divied out accordingly. Giving the ones to Mabel and Dipper on one knee he said, “Couldn’t just go dimension hopping without getting something special for you guys!”

 

Mabel was quick to open the small black box that, when opened, contained a miniscule pink orb, “A jawbreaker,” she said in absent wonder, and picked it up.

 

“Heh-no sweetie, that’s not-Rick fix it before she shoves it in her mouth-” Stan jabbed Rick with an elbow, who reached out to give two quick taps in succession to the ball. It immediately expanded, falling before them in the middle of the room.

 

“Grunkle Stan! You remembered!” Mabel cried out in awe as there it was - the human hamster ball of her dreams.

 

“Y-yeah iiiiit’s been spruced up a bit - those h-EUUUGH-man knock-offs aren’t really the best,” Rick looked pulled his flask out of his coat pocket and stared checked to see just how much he had left before taking a swig. Mabel attempted to climb into it with the help of Stan. 

 

Dipper, more methodical in opening his, even though it looked like a small black book. Upon opening, a bright green aardvark appears in a hologram before him. He cooed in wonder, closed the book, then opened it again just to see the effect. He went through the prospective list, “Grunkle Stan! Is this every species of living creature on Earth?” he scrolled and scrolled, “this is amazing!”

 

“All we did was go right to the next dimension over. It’s amazing how one tiny factor changes everything! Everything there was all futuristic and science-y,” he stared off for a moment before adding, “Gave me a headache,” he shoved a thumb back at Rick, who was nonchalantly giving Summer the plugin to a device that could not only extend her Wi-Fi, but also gave access to apps across the multiverse, “Got it the same place as that. Can you believe this stuff came cheaper than a cell phone?” he chuckled, because that implied they actually paid for their items. 

 

Mabel and Dipper didn’t question it. Content with their gifts, they hugged Stan with a thank you, and ran off to take their things to their room. Ford looked at Stan expectantly. The younger brother smirked, “Don’t think I forgot about you,” he handed Ford a frame, when turned around it was an old and severely defaced wanted poster of himself, “Figured you’d want it framed.”

 

“Stanley I-” Ford wasn’t sure he was supposed to laugh or if his brother was serious. It was only when a rather expensive bottle of brandy was shoved in his hands that he knew it was just a joke. He hugged his brother, and sighed, “Well, a cure won’t work on itself,” he smirked and ambled out of the room trying to decipher the alien language on the bottle he was given.

 

Stan looked back over to Rick, “You ready?” 

 

Rick had just given Morty a VR-like apparatus, “Alright! There’s a new Dave game,” Morty’s voice cracked, and ran off with the VR still over his eyes.

 

“Idiot,” Rick sniffed and then grabbed the last of their packages, “Time to suit up,” he handed a bag to Stan who nodded coyly, one of the free arms under his original pair reached out to give a gentle smack to Rick’s ass. Rick cast a warning glance at him before shaking a finger.

 

“Soooorry,” Stan wheedled with fake shock, “I guess I’m still having difficulty controlling these things.”

 

The two exchanged knowing looks before laughing deviously and running off to change.

 

\----------------

 

The Shack wasn’t as busy as it could have been, but a sizeable group gathered in front of a ragged-looking blue-haired man impeccably dressed as Mr. Mystery himself. He tipped the fez to them, and fiddled with the eight ball on his cane, “Welcome to the Mystery Shack, folks. We’ve got a great spread for you today,” he waved his hand at the exhibits which looked like they were close to falling apart.

 

The crowd didn’t seem to complain. Soos, standing in the back, his hat brim lower than usual, didn’t need to feign his enthusiasm, “Let’s get this started!”

 

“I like that gentleman’s gumption,” Rick sniffed, burped, and reeled over to the first exhibit, a mothman, but appeared to an old man literally covered in moths. The crowd cooed. Soos laid on how impressed he was. 

 

Rick wasn’t really impressed with the Shack himself. Sure, it was money, and he loved swindling stupid people, but really...could have been executed better. After several exhibits that would be summed up in two words-word puns-until they reached a spotlit area containing Stanley sitting in a rocking chair and reading a newspaper. He seemed bored, “Took ya long enough,” he growled. 

 

“And here,” Rick snorted, and got back into character, “we have, the Amazing Spider-Stan!” he shimmied his hands at Stan, who was busy picking his ear with a pinky finger.

 

The crowd didn’t seem impressed, except for Soos, who gave an excited whoop. Stan himself, was no longer dressed in the specifically tailored shirt for his body type, but rather was dressed in a regular grey track suit, looking lumpy as usual.

 

“What’s this supposed to be?” a guest asked.

 

“It’s just a gross old man…” another sighed.

 

“I’ve seen this guy before! He just looks lumpier!”

 

“-and hairier!”

 

Rick, leaning on the cane, staring at the fingernails of his free hand, scoffed, “Sheesh, tough crowd.”

 

Stan had enough. In seemingly realistic, impotent rage he stood up from his hair to go, “That’s it!” he said, determined to leave. One more step, and he found himself pausing to grip at his chest in horror, “Uh! Oh no!” he was doubling over.

 

“Oh great, no we paid to see an old man die…”

 

In the middle of Stan’s pain he narrowed his eyes with a, “Hey!” before continuing on with the charade. Laying on the cheese, he let the arms just gently push against the fabric. A woman in the crowd screamed. With little sympathy, the extra appendages burst forth, twitching wildly while he shrieked and howled. The cloth ripped and the hideous appendages burst from the tracksuit. The crowd erupted. Shockingly enough what was left in the wreckage besides a cheering Soos, was a plethora of coins and dollar bills.

 

“I-I have to hand it to ya, Stanley,” Rick bent down to pocket a few bills, “You really know your way around a scam. This worked-urrrrp-this worked incredibly well,” he took a swig from his flask, “Like - straight from a cartoon well,” 

 

Stan ignored that comment and flexed his arms proudly, “Yep! These things are a blessing! I feel powerful!” he was practically seething with it, “what else can we do before Poindexer chops them off or - whatever!” he didn’t want to think about what ridiculous off-the-cuff method his brother would suffice with. 

 

Rick first flashed Stan a microexpression of smoldering lust, before jerking his head back and looking at Soos, “You mind?” Soos, realizing he had overstayed his welcome, backed out of the Shack to enjoy a day off, blush spread across his face. Now knowing they were alone, Rick gently shoved Stanley by his shoulders up against an empty bit of wall, “What else do you think you can do with those arms?”

Stanley's auxiliary arms reached around Rick to spin him around, "Let me show you," he waggled his eyebrows at the taller man, dipped him, and they both ran off to Stanley's room giggling like a couple of frat boys.


End file.
